Optimism is a welcome companion in all walks of life. Sometimes, optimism is a quiet whisper of encouragement, a rustling of leaves in the wind. Other times, it is a roaring ocean wave that pushes us out of the turbulent riptides of doubt and onto solid ground. Nevertheless, optimism is an ever-present melody.
Music has always been ingrained in me. Even before my ears were formed in my mother’s womb, my family exposed me to the wonderful world of sound. Classical music, pop music, church hymns – I’ve always been enveloped in music. But I didn’t fall in love with music until I picked up the violin in third grade. That’s when I realized how powerful music was. I could express any and every emotion I felt with a stroke of my bow. I could pour boundless joy, suffocating anguish, and fiery anger into my notes. When I brought my music to an audience, the room became my canvas. Every molecule of air was a drop of paint, every sound wave that flew off my strings a brushstroke. I painted landscapes of majestic mountains, portraits of dancers in red, adventures with lions and lemurs.
As the years went by, my technique improved, and the hours I played grew longer. Optimism that I would eventually perfect a difficult passage pushed me to master my pieces. Wieniawski, Katchaturian, Tchaikovsky – my concertos became more physically demanding. My practicing reached a peak during the pandemic when I had nothing to do but fiddle with my violin, but that was also the year that playing began to hurt. While the violin breathed new life into my soul, it also tormented my body. Golfer’s elbow, tennis elbow, muscle knots, and pinched nerves plagued me. At one point, I couldn’t even hold a pencil or fork without shaking. One can imagine how distressed I was when the doctor told me I had to stop. I was merely bored at first, but then a sense of emptiness crept in. Every time a beautiful violin solo sang over the radio, I had to remind myself that I wasn’t allowed to look for the score and play the music. Optimism had no place in my heart.
Even though I had banished optimism from my life, it snuck its way back in through the Butterfly Lovers Violin Concerto. The music accompanies the famous Chinese legend, which tells the story of two schoolmates who fall in love, but one is promised to marry another while the other falls ill and dies. In the end, they are reborn as butterflies and fly away together. To recount this otherworldly story of loss and rebirth with my violin was a challenge that intrigued me. With a pinched nerve in my neck and tendonitis in both arms, I was unable to perform pieces like Dvořák’s violin concerto; however, Butterfly Lovers allowed me to explore other aspects of music: culture, artistic expression, and storytelling.
Listening to the concerto in the back of the cabin in Taiwan, I could feel the melodies tugging at my fingers, encouraging me to reconnect with my lost love for music. Maybe I didn’t have to return to how I was before; instead, I could find another path.
Eventually, I bribed my brother to be my piano accompanist for a competition in the spring. Rehearsals went well until the competition drew near; then, I hit a wall. I fumbled constantly, even with my eyes fixed on the fingerboard. The little optimism that had found its way into my heart was quickly diminishing. I was plagued by doubt in my abilities, but I knew the music well – I had studied it for months. Then I forced myself to close my eyes. At first, I felt unstable in the darkness. Then trusting instincts to guide me, I heard the song. In the elegant, melodic parts, I saw plum blossoms and shimmering butterflies. The brisk, playful runs – children playing hide and seek. Furious chords – rebellion and anger. My fingers danced over the strings.
My injuries and failure tested my resolve, but optimism had rewarded me with an opportunity to find empathy in music and define success on my terms. When I arrived for the competition, I was a musician with a different purpose. It wasn’t to prove that I could play difficult music. That brought no satisfaction, only pain. Instead, optimism had guided me to a different path, a path to share a beautiful tale and take the audience on a journey. When my turn came, I strode up to the stage with my brother. I raised the violin onto my shoulder. The judge looked at me, and I smiled back.
Olivia Huang is a senior at Rio Americano High School who will attend UC San Diego in the fall. Her essay was awarded first place in the Optimist Club of Sacramento essay contest.
